Space Stimulators: The Fulminating Fright of the Freedom Failanx
by Quillon42
Summary: When Trump and a couple of his clan copulate with the cold hard ground of a border town to summon voodoo-derived anti-immigrant cannons…the stars of Space Raiders (a successor to Space Invaders on the Nintendo Gamecube) must intervene to thwart these amoral auto-amorous machinations.


SPACE STIMULATORS: THE FULMINATING FRIGHT OF THE FREEDOM FAILANX

By Quillon42

It was along the most perilous perimeter of that American border town of Otay Mesa, California that a critical confrontation would occur with the most heinously invasive of entities in all of history. The creature that had to be crushed in this instance, however, was not a beast from beyond that could be called by the initials ET, but rather a leviathan from within which went instead by DT.

Toward the line betwixt Mexico and Murica now coursed three canny crusaders, each well versed in the control of peacekeeping craft even though only one was a man of authoritative combat, while the other two were respectively a mistress of inauspicious cameras and a mook among insubordinate criminals. All three had lost at least one person dear to him or her in an earlier occupation involving organisms from outer space—although it brought about the most introspective of inquiries as to what had occasioned the greater harm, between said bereavements on one hand, and on the other the berating by the enemy overseer that he had hated the humans' voices, looks, and hearts.

Now, at any rate, the terrestrially triumphant trio known as Justin, Ashley, and Naji were making most nomadically for that crucially controversial line in the sand that lay along the underside of the States. The hallowed heroes had heard that their crusty Commander in Chief was fixing finally to enforce an executive action in Otay today…one which actually did not involve a divinely divisive border barrier, but rather a measure that was all the more deviously diabolical.

Upon inspecting for yet another instance the social media caches of one Omarosa Manigault—the Director of Public Liaison for a United States that was ill-fated in any of a multiverse of realities—a nimble Naji unearthed the advertised insidious announcements of said siren and sighed. There upon that stark screenscape the _Apprentice_ alumnus boasted generally of a new, grandiose design of the most deific yet dubious of Donalds, an eclipsing idea that would overshadow the scheme of the woeful wall, as much as the August 21, 2017 Eclipse in America underwhelmingly failed to overshadow jack shit.

(This author lives in Northeast USA, where we didn't get any of the totality and all…yes he is joltingly jelly about that as well).

Yet the ever-enterprising Omarosa remained mum online as to the exact contours of this course of action. Indeed, it was only through reconnaissance by the resourceful officer known in endless circles as the Najinator himself that he discovered the actual agenda of this unctuous administration…as well as the unthinkable involvement of that same magnificent Madame Manigault in this perfidious plan.

To his boundlessly abysmal dismay, the Naj gained the knowledge that his adored Oma, she who was the apple of his world-weathered eyes, she who was the omelet of his perpetually tightly-gripped skillet, was omniscient in the faith and the art of voodoo. And what would be employed against aliens that were illegal rather than intergalactic, on this occasion, would require not railings and ramparts, but rituals and risings of anathema that were appallingly inconceivable. And these rites would not require blood…but rather the implementation of more intimate fluids in fact, by the men who most made America allegedly "Great," or at least made it something different from what it had been before.

"All will be restored to these States," admonished Omarosa now, as the Donald and the dunces who were his son and son-in-law listened intently now at the nation's edge, "once you have lain with the land in a prone position, prostrating yourselves before the hegemony of the hallowed houngan."

Said houngan, said sorceress of the occult was of course none other than Mam Manigault herself. She brandished her briefcase now before the men on the ground as if the leatherbound item were the jauntiest of jujus.

"Your mojo must merge with the Otay terrain herein," she chided Donald, Junior, and Kushner now, as they each doffed their dungarees, carmine MAGA caps, and otherwise offensive Harvey hats.

"Permit the permeation of your perfect spunk throughout the soil…"

These insidious instructions were uttered just minutes before Naji, Justin, and Ashley alighted upon the scene. Each of the heroes hurtled along in their Humvees—which of course each knew how to drive with determination, just as they all knew how to fly fighter jets in _Space Raiders_ even though Ashley was just a journalist and Justin was just a jerkoff.

They all reviewed once again the execution of the battle brainchild that Naji concocted in the past several hours. When the officer first revealed the plan, at least one of their number was rather nonplussed:

"The Blurple Battalion?!" cried Justin incredulously. A beat; then after hazarding a glance at the enticing Ashley, the young gangbanger anew: "So which one of us is going to sit on the toilet and do the deuce, and who's going to…uhh…"

"No, that's a 'Blumpkin,' you douche. Christ." Naji smhed sullenly, both at the other's ignorance as well as his prurience.

At any rate, said brazen Blurple pursuit would have to be perpetrated in the minutes moseying ahead, as it appeared that the enemy was assuming its fatalistic phalanx of fail.

Trumpsters tromped all about the American border, traipsing and shouting the glory of the God Emperor as said alleged deity doubled down into the dirt with his First Son as well as his First Daughter's Husband. Instants afterward it all commenced, the Donald devoting his larger, obviously superior paws to getting it on with himself most missionarily, the granddaddy of Great-Againers grinding into the ground with vibrant vivacity. Junior and Kushner followed starchy conservative suit as they similarly, jejunely pushed their privates punishingly against the planet, the trio trying so hard as they trounced the terra firma with everything they had in them from thumbs to thingamajigs. Applause of approval ensued from the goofy GOP (Grand Old Party) as JustiNajAshley justifiably looked on in abject horror.

It was another several seconds, however, after so many triumphant Trump-humps from the leader of the free world and his nepotistic henchmen, as well as totem-hymns from the total hymen that was Maiden Manigault, that the manifestation of all this bleakness and black magic frothed into fruition.

Breaking the surface of the Republican-raped land now were three cantankerous cannons, each emerging as a monolithic figure that was anything but flaccid. As said erected sentinels stood there most stiffly before all, Mam Omarosa anew:

"NOW HERE BEHOLD…THE FIRE AND FURY PROMISED THE WORLD BY OUR PRESIDENT!"

Each of the freakish sleek schlongs then curled a second, as if taking a bow. Naji noted that the head of every one glowed with an eerie golden aura.

"IN PLACE OF THE UNWIELDLY WALL, WHICH OUR TITANIC MASTER TRUMP INITIALLY PROPOSED, AND WHICH THOSE ACROSS THE BORDER WOULD NEVER SUBSIDIZE…

"WE GIVE YOU…THE FREEDOM PHALLUSES!"

Upon observing the seminal weaponry, Justin, who wore the jacket emblazoned with an OG Invader from the late 1970s, realized that the original artillery from the Atari 2600 Space Invaders was itself somewhat dickesque in its own design as well. _That must be where they got their inspiration from,_ he thought to himself.

To be sure, this must have been the desired end result all along. Why hold border crossers back with a mere barrier, after all…when weaponry could be employed instead, to train on interterritorial invaders the way that so many lasers eviscerated extraterrestrial aliens in the ancient ages of Atari.

Naji nodded to Ashley now, the heroes almost ready to execute their stratagem, when:

" _GENDER FLUIDITY FOR GIANT GUNS!"_

"Ahhhhh _SHIT,_ " cried Ashley, tapping her forehead with a .45 in frustration. "We have to deal with these Antifucks also, in addition to the G-Men?!"

For certain, the appearance of Antifa now, with their glowing placards touting the aforementioned "GENDER FLUIDITY" outcry, in addition to other utterances like "I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN CANNONKIN" and "FORMIDABLE PHALLUSES HAVE FEELINGS TOO," flooded the forefront of the border. Indeed, it would be much more of a challenge to succeed in the scheme, what with the arrival of these boorish asshats in addition to the bureaucrats already extent on the scene.

"What's the call, boss?" piped Justin to Naji, in their hiding place amidst the brush on the Mesa.

Gritting grimly, the cop hesitated, he taking in all the other chants of the Antifools.

" _Not our president, but a jackoff and a jackass!"_

" _Free the Mesa from sticky Confederate fists!"_

" _This author is nothing but a racy racial racer for making Omarosa a voodoo priestess!"_

(Sure; this author only made Naji like the straight protagonist of the entire story, with Justin and Ashley as his effin backup singers…friggin _Blade Trinity_ on this shit and all now…but it's okay if white men like Trump and Company look like fools while fucking the Earth's floor).

(Oh, wait…Trump is orange, isn't he.)

(Well, fit this author for an effing hood and such).

Upon the bitterness-braced tongue of the never-flinching Naji was that fatal phrasing that he uttered in his home city riddled with so many monsters, during the storied time of the Space Raiding™—that line that the creature killer admittedly cribbed in part from Kelly LeBrock in the course of so many Eighties Pantene ads…

"Don't hate me…because I kill you."

Then, urgently to the other pair of bobos in his Battalion:

" _These heartless beasts…we must INVADE!"_

And then said Invasion was indeed on, as Naji nudged Justin and Ashley ahead alongside, the three whipping out their weapons, unloading lead in all directions and against all enemies.

First it was the buddy-bereft whitebread thug that was Justin, the boy blasting with his machine gun to bring down so many douches in the current, errant Administration. Conservative cronies fell flailingly onto their faces faster than they would have otherwise been able to resign from their positions (considering the rapid rates at which they have been so doing in the reader's reality). For his part, the pugilistic punkass made this pukeworthy political party's colors run redder than they ever had before.

Next it was the bullet-barraging bodaciousness that was Ashley endeavoring forth, she outwowing John Effing Woo with the punches of the pair of pistols she packed. Perhaps it was all her work behind the media videocamera that made her able to point and shoot so well—or maybe it was just her animus against the assjaws that were so many SJWs who stood so shriekingly in the way of her and her allies' end zone. Again, any Hebrew heeding this hecatomb nearby would have uttered " _OY_ G BIV!" indeed as the oranges, yellows, greens, blues, indigoes, and violets of the liberal diversity rainbow all receded to the red that dominated the demesne as of now. (Yes, this author just worked that hard for that joke…and he is proud of that).

Then bringing up the back of the Battalion was the nastiest of Najis as he steadied his shotgun against both foul factions, the put-upon policeman shelling crusty congresspeople and West Coast wastes of space alike. After booming into oblivion so many suits and so many sandals, he espied his ambitious undertaking's objective, and he called out once more to his teammates:

"The time is now for us, lady and lad…TO _BLEND IT INTO A BLURPLE!"_

Without hesitating, the three released the lids of the canisters at their sides, all containing the amethyst spores which had shrunk them down to a fraction of their mass during their repulsion of the alien Raiders. Each trooper of the trois then leapt into the air, each directly toward the mouth of a Freedom Phallus, as his or her constitution contracted down to fit inside the baleful barrel. Naji, Justin, and Ashley then stamped their feet against the back end of the cannon into which they were cooped, activating the azure spheroid shoe soles that were made of the same reflective cerulean spheres that His Najesty used as a special weapon against the Raiding space shits. The friction from these impacts prompted the Phalluses to prime themselves for implementation, perhaps far sooner than those who sired them had intended…but that was all an intended byproduct of the blue and purple catalysts—yea, the Blurples, that were now contributing to the mission's climactic completion.

Inside his woeful weapon now, Justin mused mentally to himself. To commune in this way with such a long and hard object as this…now I can know the connection the other gang members must have had all this time.

Similarly, Ashley pondered her lost fiancé while she readied herself. All those times my Roy was so very deeply inside…now I suppose the sapphire shoes are on the other foot, aren't they.

Naji would not even have time for a figment of philosophizing, as now with the most drastic of desperation, Melania and Ivanka—two of the most intense objects of the GOP's erections—positioned themselves between the threesome of what was real freedom and their intended destination out in the MexicAmerican ether.

"Wait! Stay in the States!" cried the foxy First Lady, she now wearing the same dress and waving the same fan she brandished while accompanying the United Emperor to visit Shinzo Abe in Japan. Frantically Mel flapped the accessory up and down in front of the enormous nozzle into which Naji was nuzzled. "There are still so many causes worth sacrificing for, so much history yet to be made!"

"Please go spare your Michelle-mooched speeches for someone else," spat the cop so callously hardened by the invasion from space. Ruefully the image of Barack's bombastic bae splashed through his imagination, the former First Lady occupying almost as much cerebral real estate in Naji's noggin as the engrossing Omarosa. He knew he had to push the tantalizing images out of his mind for the moment, though, as there was a mission to finish, and both of the other Blurples in the Battalion depended on him.

Just as the industrious officer focused his thoughts and attention ahead once more: "You cannot escape our clutches!" The lawman then locked eyes with the enticing yet opportunistic First Daughter of the Donald, as she waved a piddling purse in each hand to distract the deputy. "One for $113.50, two for $310.00!" While Ivanka was perhaps the epitome of erogeneity for some, for Naji she was more of a clucking lady bird than Lyndon Johnson's spouse.

None of the insidious importunings of the First Family would prevent the powerful payload that was about the issue forth. Verily

[BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM]

as the truculent troika that was Justin, Naji, and Ashley exploded out of the Phallus's portals, each of them expanding back to normal size as he or she was expelled into the open air, almost all others within the radius of the bombastic blast were obliterated posthaste. Everyone from the big goppers of the right, to the blow jobbers of the left—everyone was annihilated and sent to the respective limboes of whichever faith they pertained (or in the case of the liberals, sent to nothingness for lack of any such beliefs).

However, it was at the last second that the Najerific one decided on a pair of pretty passengers for his own personal flight. Eyeing Ivanka and Melania most suggestively before his own blast, he burst out of his own opening with arms spread quite widely.

EPILOGUE

[SPPPPPLLLLLAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHH]

The trajectory calculated by the Blurple Boss was unerring, as the fivesome that were the Battalion plus two Trump tramps careened ever so smoothly right into the resort pool at Isla Mujeres, Mexico. The motley mass of ejected expatriates made their way out of the water and very soon thereafter into each other's arms.

No longer would Ashley ever regret that fiancé Roy, as the randy atmosphere of their foreign refuge shunted her heartily toward fellow Invader infantryman Justin. In turn, the latter would leave behind the memories of his fallen fuckboys as he eagerly accepted a bid to blast his way into Ashley's back pockets. Forsooth, a ravishing Raid upon one another's orifices was the order of the day for each of these weary overworked warriors.

As for Naji, the military mastermind guessed that he would just have to learn to love and settle for Ivanka and Melania. Never would he realize that lady for whom he lusted so; nay, never would there be supper at the Ponderosa for Najarosa in the years to come.

It was the truth though, in actuality, that Omarosa did abscond from the Otay Mesa incident, as her magicks preserved her so she could spirit away to recruit other Trumpsters so they could tear trousers and summon more sentinels of Freedom.

(This author would personally plow down to conjure a couple of cannons over Louise Linton, the wife of that Steven…Munchkin or whatever (despite whatever stupid shit she had said over on Twitter), and/or Lara Yunaska Trump as well (despite the everlasting influx of all of that real news)).

So it would be that the Blurple Battalion would find its happy ending here south of the border in Mexico, all of them down here now so far away from so much corruption and ruin…in a land that merely had the Sinaloa Cartel, the Knights Templar, the Mara Salvatrucha/MS-13, the Barrio 18, the Santa Cabeza 53594, and however many other entities all around them in lines after lines of endless formation.


End file.
